Finally, some positivity.
Yesterday, prior to my revendevous with James, I was stood in front of my full-length mirror in my bathroom, stocking-and-suspendered up, checking the shock-absorbing qualities of my new basque.
What a nice image.
So many of my friends complain about their bodies, their saggy bingo-wings, their alopecia (thankfully that one bypassed me). But honestly, I think it's about the way you see yourself. For example, I am a healthy size 12. Many of my fitnnes-freak friends find this a little appauling, force feeding me rice crackers, or encouraging me to swap my muffin for a granola bar.
I think it's a bit out-of-order. I am not fat. I am curvy. In fact, I think a fuller-figure is an asset, rather than a draw back. (However, I must stress, when I say a 'fuller figure' is an asset, I do not mean the kind of 'fuller figure' which proves problematic in doorways.)
After sometime of embracing this rather anti-women ideal of the skinny minnie, I have decided to give my friend's prejudices the boot, and am feeling much the better for it. So much so that yesterday I donned my underwear in a pre-date rehearsal, and danced rather vigorously around my room to an old Alisha's Attic album. Like a banshee. Maybe even a wailing one.
New M&S super-bra and suspender belt. He is not going to know what...